Inside, the air smelled of dust and roses, a strange mix that was both sweet and unsettling. We walked through endless hallways, the walls adorned with old paintings whose figures seemed to follow us with their gaze.

  The marble floors, though shiny, returned an echo that resonated persistently, amplifying each footstep.

  We passed through arches that loomed like the jaws of a hungry creature, and at every corner, an invisible presence seemed to lurk.

  Time stretched, becoming eternal in this labyrinth of corridors. As we ventured further into the mansion, I could feel the air grow denser, pressing against my chest.

  Finally, we reached a door. It was made of dark wood, with veins intertwining like twisted roots. In the center hung a sign that read "DO NOT ENTER."

  "By the way," the vampire said, pulling a pink ribbon from her purse, "I’m Ivanoska Sokolova."

  The ribbon wrapped around my neck, far too soft for someone who had just drained half a liter of blood from me. Her fingers paused over my wounds.

  “It’s such a shame you bleed so much,” she murmured. She tried to clean my shirt with a handkerchief, then with her tongue. The contact made me hold my breath.

  Her tongue glided over the wound—a mockery of a lover’s kiss. Cold. Precise. Wrong in ways that made my pulse stutter. Not from fear now, but from the terrifying realization: I wanted her to do it again.

  Before I could react (I wish I could say that, but the truth is I was frozen), she kicked the door open, as if we were in some damn action movie. The impact rang in my ears.

  “Surprise!” Ivanoska sang, pushing me inside. “Happy birthday!”

  I tripped and fell against something soft. Very soft. Too soft.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  When I looked up, I saw golden eyes.

  She was younger than Ivanoska, or at least she seemed to be. Jet-black hair, short and silky. Porcelain skin, and a black corset struggling to contain breasts that defied both gravity and common sense.

  “Mother,” the girl said, freezing the room with her voice, “where did you find this stray?”

  “Don’t you like him?”

  The girl sniffed me, her nostrils flaring.

  Oh, no. I knew this part. I tried to create some space between us, willing my body to respond. It didn’t. Wait… I could almost feel my toes twitch under my command.

  “He smells like fear and piss,” she growled, shoving me.

  My body felt strange as I lost the warmth of her proximity. I fell on my ass; the girl had incredible strength.

  “What? You don’t think he’s cute? His name is Eight, and he’s very polite,” Ivanoska rushed to me.

  “No! Take that thing back where you found it.”

  Ivanoska smiled, revealing her sharp fangs.

  “But he’s AB negative. The unicorn blood of the vamp world—and your personal favorite!”

  “Mom!” the girl shouted. “Now I’ll have to disinfect my room.”

  “Elina, enough!” the woman raised her voice as she effortlessly lifted me up. She then turned toward her daughter.

  “Fine, I’ll clean him up, give him a nice suit, and maybe a haircut. I won’t return him. I might give him to your sister.” She looked at me with malice. “Or maybe I’ll keep him for myself.”

  “I’d prefer to be left alone,” I said, surprising myself. And, by the way they looked at me, I surprised them too.

  Ivanoska jumped back, grabbing her daughter and placing her behind her. Protecting her from me?

  “What?” she said, incredulous.

  Somehow, I had recovered control of my body, but something was off. I think I had lost something else in the process. I felt empty—no fear, no pain, no cold. Shit, I didn’t even feel embarrassed anymore.

  Ivanoska and Elina’s gazes locked on me, their eyes widening. Elina, in particular, seemed frozen.

  “I mean, if you don’t want me here anymore... I can find my way home... alone.” I turned and walked toward the exit, my body finally obeying.

  Then I slammed the door shut behind me, the sound cheering me on. I knew I wouldn’t leave without consequences, but at that moment, all I wanted was to escape this dream.

  Because it couldn’t be anything but that—a dream. Not a wet one, though. Or maybe it was, considering my piss-soaked pants.